


Places, everyone

by neonsign



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 07:41:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11157312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonsign/pseuds/neonsign
Summary: Because where Akira Kurusu goes, Goro Akechi follows. Everyone knows the rivalry, even if their knowledge is limited to what’s been in the papers; a game like this draws attention from those content to sit on the sidelines.But the thing about cat and mouse is it means you’re either a step behind or you’re leaving clues. This time will be different – end the game before it can begin. That’s why you’re here.





	Places, everyone

**Author's Note:**

> "hey what year is this supposed to take place in" that's a good question now never ask me again

You say, “My name is Goro Akechi,” with a smile.

Light, pleasant, charismatic.

An up and coming detective but Makoto Niijima looks so thoroughly underwhelmed by you. A mixture of the ocean breeze and the way she looks you up and down sends a chill up your spine. Still, she smiles politely; you are, after all, chasing the same man. There’s something about that she finds funny, judging by the small chuckle that slips from her.

“I was wondering when you would show up.”

“My reputation precedes me.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

Because where Akira Kurusu goes, Goro Akechi follows. Everyone knows the rivalry, even if their knowledge is limited to what’s been in the papers; a game like this draws attention from those content to sit on the sidelines.

But the thing about cat and mouse is it means you’re either a step behind or you’re leaving clues. This time will be different – end the game before it can begin. That’s why you’re here.

“But you wasted your time hunting me down,” Niijima says. “I don’t need your help finding him.”

You straighten your cuffs, letting your gaze drift to a couple nearby dock workers. “On the contrary, I was hoping I would be the one receiving help. I’ve heard a lot about you, Niijima. We would both benefit from working together and I think you know that.”

She tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear and surveys you curiously, weighing her options in her head, the pros and the cons. Lay it on a little thicker and maybe you’ll convince her.

“My sole interest," you say, "is finding Kurusu and taking him down. You know that I have undeniable skills; you can’t afford to turn down my help. Not if you want that promotion.”

That catches her off-guard.

But it’s also the wrong thing to say.

“And is that how you enlist my help? By implying I’m only in this for the praise and recognition? _I’m_ not the narcissist always in the newspapers.”

She’s right – of course she’s right – so you hold your hands up like her words are a gun aimed at your lungs and you apologize. Show her you’re fallible and let her enjoy getting Goro Akechi to bend.

It works – of course it works – and with a sigh, she gives in, agreeing to a tentative partnership.

She leads the way down the waterfront, speaking over her shoulder and leaving it to you to keep up. “You’re up to speed, I assume. An information broker named Alibaba let slip the rumor that Kurusu is back. Last I heard he was in France.”

Belgium, actually.

“Do you routinely pay information brokers?”

“Alibaba was the one that contacted me,” Niijima insists. “They said this one was a favour and that I would owe them in the future – which is strange enough on its own, but I’m not about to take the tip for granted. Shortly after, a sailor got in contact with me, saying he has information I might like.”

You stare at her, idly touching your chin.  “That’s some luck you’ve got.”

“It is… rather convenient. But as I said, I’m not about to look a gift horse in the mouth – and I assume neither are you, if it means finally catching Kurusu?”

 _Finally_ , she says, as if you haven’t caught him before – but who’s keeping score? All you do is nod and follow Niijima to where she agreed to meet the sailor, watching the way she carries herself with a straight back, confident and sure. You’ve heard about her, about her father and her sister. It’s quite the legacy to live up to.

Not five minutes later, the two of you stand with the sailor beside a warehouse. Sakamoto, he calls himself, covered in sweat and grime, and he scratches his head through his postboy cap.

“Guy paid me under the table to slip him in with the cargo. When I said I wasn’t about to risk my job for some nobody, he said he’s Akira Kurusu and he’d return the favour after his next job. Dunno if it was actually him, though – he didn’t look like I thought he would. Kinda… meek.”

“What _did_ he look like?”

“There’s no point in knowing,” you mutter. Because Akira Kurusu is adept at disguise. A timid bookworm one in one country, a snide and entitled noble in the next. Not everything about his physical appearance can be disguised, but if you change a man’s entire demeanor, most other things seem to follow along.

Sakamoto shrugs. “Anyway, I thought he was after all those fancy types we had on board; there were a bunch of foreign politicians and people from some pretty old families. Even that Ann Takamaki was on board – you guys heard about her? But we never got word that anything was stolen. Aside from some incident with Takamaki and this Kamoshida guy, it was calm seas.”

Niijima stares at the ground, toying with her hair.

“Thank you, Sakamoto,” she says, lifting her head. “That will be all.”

“Uh – what? There’s no reward? That’s the whole reason I called – figured you cops’re more reliable than some thief.”

You can’t help but smile. “What’s more rewarding than being an upstanding citizen?”

Sakamoto curls his lip and tugs his cap lower over his eyes before leaving in a huff. Another salty ocean breeze winds through the ships and the luggage, and you pull your coat tighter around yourself.

“Kurusu really is here,” you say. “What are you going to do, Niijima?”

She thinks for a moment, smoothing the front of her jacket. “Leaving the other passengers alone and keeping his name off the registry means he didn’t want anyone to know he was there, but _two_ people sold him out. I guess there is no honour among thieves, even with his self-entitled sense of justice.”

You laugh quietly. “What if I told you I believe his target is still those people on board? And that he’s just waiting for the right moment?”

Even if he wasn’t on the registry, dressed in finery and mimicking their personalities, a thief and a liar as talented as Kurusu would be able to worm his way in and get the information he wanted. He only ever strikes once, carefully, but not without a showman’s sense.

You ask her, “Have you heard of Masayoshi Shido?”

 

* * *

 

When you tell Ann Takamaki to be wary of thieves, for she’s the finest jewel here, she giggles behind her hand. It feels good, doesn’t it? That attention. Her eyes are only on you, Mister Detective. That’s probably why you let slip that a certain person of ill repute is hiding amongst the shadows. Certainly, there isn’t much else to hold your interest.

The rich don’t need a reason to celebrate other than the fact that they can and this party is no different. These are the kinds of people that flock to a rising politician. It’s nothing more than an overt display of power and wealth, as gaudy as that bracelet on Takamaki’s wrist.

She coils a strand of blonde hair around her finger, jewels sparkling in the warm, low light.  “And you really think Kurusu is here?”

“Of course.” After all, it’s your job; you know him better than anyone. There is no doubt he’s biding his time like the coward he is. A snake like Kurusu only strikes at the opportune time.

“That’s a little scary,” Takamaki says, very nearly clinging to your arm. She’s warm through your jacket. “But… it’s a little exciting as well. Don’t you agree, Makoto?”

Niijima tears her eyes away from a humble old man standing on the other side of the ballroom. “Sorry – what? Akechi, Madarame is here. We should go introduce ourselves.”

Given their present company, she doesn’t say anything more, but the point is made clear enough. It’s with some reluctance that you excuse yourself, but Takamaki only smiles and waves. She’s a hard sight to turn away from, especially when she’s replaced by an old man in drab clothes.

Madarame, it turns out, is a fish out of water. The only reason he’s there is because of his status in the art world. He doesn’t belong with these types, he admits modestly, but at home in his quiet atelier. A young man stands beside him, as elegant as any painting on the wall, and his eyes meet yours. When Madarame excuses himself to speak to someone he knows, the man stays behind.

“Word has it that Akira Kurusu is at this party,” he says without preamble, and you tilt your head curiously. “I would advise you keep an eye on the painting Sensei brought as a gift. You’ve heard of the string of thefts that have been plaguing Sensei, yes? There was a lull while Kurusu was abroad, but tonight would make a fine return.”

Being that Kurusu is the culprit behind them, of course you both know about it. Every now and then – seemingly by the whims of a carefree man – paintings keep getting stolen from Maradarme’s atelier. In their place is left a card that claims they’ve been returned to their rightful owners, or – provided the artist is among the number that have committed suicide – sold to ‘true appreciators of art.’

Niijima takes a sip of her drink. “All save your works, Yusuke Kitagawa.”

“Is that so strange? I live at the atelier. What is Kurusu going to do, take my work off the wall and place it beside my futon?”

“Then you admit that the works stolen were never Madarame’s to begin with?”

Kitagawa shifts his weight to one leg and crosses his arms. The only sound between the three of you is the drone of the crowd and a gentle piano melody.

“They say Kurusu only targets the rich and the unjust,” Kitagawa says. “Some would call that admirable. Others might wonder which of those Madarame falls under.”

Niijima watches Kitagawa with a small crease in her brow. A puzzle exists before her and she works through it, idly toying with her hair. When you ask her what she makes of it all, she turns to you with slight amusement.

“You ask that like this is a test.”

“I’m only curious as to your opinion.”

A weary sigh while she gathers her thoughts before speaking slowly and carefully. “Assuming that the rumors of plagiarism are true, I think that… the paintings belong with their artists. Even if it’s against the law, I can’t help but wonder if true justice is on Kurusu’s side. Laws are manmade but man is fallible.”

You can’t help but smile.

“Is that so?”

Niijima’s response is cut off by a woman’s scream.

 

* * *

 

It’s quite the scene.

Ann Takamaki is in hysterics.

Everyone is gathered around her – even Shido, who you spot towards the back whispering to his bodyguard. No matter how Niijima sits Takamaki down and tries to calm her with a gentle voice and a glass of water, fat tears roll down her cheeks and ruin her make-up. He bumped into her, she says, Akira Kurusu bumped into her and when he apologized, anxiously taking her hand between both of his, the two-faced bastard must have plucked the bracelet clean from her wrist.

“You were supposed to keep me _safe_ ,” she spits, slapping away your offered hand. “Seems the great Goro Akechi isn’t good for anything next to Akira Kurusu. That bracelet was a gift from my parents from their time in Sweden, it’s _irreplaceable_! I’ll make sure you never hear the end of this – and Shido as well.” She gestures wildly at all the men in suits watching her. “What good are all these guards for? Absolutely nothing!”

“You are absolutely right, my lady,” Shido says, stepping forward. “I take full responsibility for this, and will do everything in my considerable power to make sure your property is returned to you. I can’t rest knowing a valued guest of mine was so sorely wronged.”

He speaks easily, slick as oil.

You stare at him for a moment before turning your attention back to Takamaki.

“Are you sure it was Kurusu?”

“Who else could it have been?”

“Did you see where he went?”

“That way,” she says, and she points towards the door.

You catch Niijima’s eye and she knows without a word what you’re planning. She’s halfway to protesting when you shake your head. No way in hell are you’re letting Kurusu get away this time, not when he’s within your grasp. Take Takamaki down to the station, you say, file a report and do things right. Take care of her.

From her chair, Takamaki sniffles and gives Niijima a watery smile. “It’ll be reassuring to have you there, Makoto. Us girls need to stick together.”

There’s nothing that can really be said to that. Niijima opens her mouth but the words die in her throat. Then she has no other option – you’re already tearing towards the door. All manners and airs of pleasantry are out the window. Dirty looks and scandalized faces follow you but pay them no mind; this is far more important.

When the doors part to an autumn night, you let the cool air temper the flames. Deep breath in, slow breath out. A sleek black car pulls up in front of you and you step into the back seat.

Inside is warm and scented of leather and floral perfume. Haru Okumura smiles kindly at you, handing you a manila envelope as the car moves forward.

“Mona wants you to know he could get used to this arrangement.”

“Well, that’s too bad for him because I can’t.” Your fingers itch to tear the package open, but for now you tuck it into your jacket, casting a cautionary glance towards the driver’s partition. “All this attention, all those people – I’m exhausted.”

Okumura laughs quietly. “I don’t believe that for a second. You have a showman’s heart.”

You smile and rest your head against the back of the seat, letting your eyes drift closed. It’s pointless to argue – maybe you did have a little too much fun. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be but a change of pace is nice every now and then. It does keep the game interesting.

“What do you think of Makoto?”

“She has potential,” you admit.

“I think so too. She was kind when I met her during my father’s… investigation. I’ve heard she caused quite a stir taking down a mafia boss recently; provided she can see our way of things, she wouldn’t be bad to have on our side. I hope we can convince her.”

The car pulls to a stop and you say your farewell with a kiss to the back of Okumura’s hand. One more show for the road. A breeze pushes you into the apartment’s lobby and you brush the hair out of your face with a gloved hand, letting your thumb brush against your lips and your imagination get away from you.

Alone in the elevator, your hand trails down your neck, clad in soft leather, and you sigh. Shame that he didn’t show up after all. Sure, that was the plan from the beginning (having that smug ass get in the way of something so important could have ruined everything) but winning without a challenge isn’t much fun at all. And maybe it’s been a while since you last saw him.

The doors slide open and you make your way to the third door on the left, jiggle your key in the lock, and push it open. You’ve barely stepped foot inside when your legs are kicked out from under you.

You hit the ground hard, every ounce of air forced from your lungs. Numb shock spreads out to your fingers from your chest – so much so that it takes a moment for you to register the man sitting on your back, forcing your arm behind you and pushing your face into the floor. The weight shifts as he leans forward and the whisper tickles your ear.

“Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery–” the grip on your hair tightens and you grit your teeth “–that mediocrity can pay to greatness, Akira Kurusu.”

Still trying to catch your breath, you laugh. All you can do is laugh – choked, desperate, and humourless. Now that your brain is catching up, the dull throbbing in your cheekbone where your face hit the floor gets worse. The hand in your hair relaxes and starts searching your pockets.

“Imagine my surprise,” Akechi says, “when I heard I was attending Shido’s party.”

He pulls out a gaudy bracelet, then scoffs and drops it to the floor to continue his search. Even like this, feeling his hand slide against your hipbone sends a thrill up your spine, and you press your bruised face against the floor to quell it.

There’s nothing else for Akechi to find until he yanks your shoulder back and shoves a hand into your jacket. He pulls the envelope out and perches himself on the small of your back while he tears it open. Finally free to move your aching arm but not much else, you stare at the wall, listening to the sound of him rifling through the papers within.

“This is… what use do you have of this? Do you intend to sell this information? Is that it?”

He sounds angry – angrier than the situation warrants.

Maybe.

Truth be told, you’re not even sure about what the papers are. From Morgana’s stint acting as hired help, he knows Shido kept documents in a safe and that Shido is dirty. As far as you’re concerned, that’s enough motive to have Morgana steal them while you act as a distraction and leave a calling card in their place, a warning that you’re watching him. More a display of power than anything else. Probably unwise, but you’ve always been lucky and there’s something exciting about flying by the seat of your pants.

“Hey – answer me! Did you meet him? Did you meet Shido?”

As far as you know, the two of them have no connection, otherwise you wouldn’t have chosen Akechi to impersonate. So you probe – a little indelicately.

“Would that be bad?”

Akechi leans forward again, taking hold of your hair, and lowers his voice to a threatening mutter. “I swear to God, if you complicated any of my plans…” His breath tickles your ear. “You’d be better off sticking to petty theft, Kurusu, because this is far out of your league.”

“Aw…” Pushing against the floor, you try to roll onto your back and Akechi lifts his hips to give you the space needed, then settles back down on top of you. “Are you worried for me? That’s sweet.”

“I worry only that you’ll bumble to your end at someone else’s hand.” He smacks the documents against your chest. “How did you get your hands on these while playing pretend and stealing whatever shining thing catches your eye? Even you can’t be two places at once.”

“It’s a poor magician that reveals his secret.”

“It’s a poor thief that gets caught in his own apartment.”

That gets a laugh while you pick the bracelet off the floor. If Ann found out any real harm came to it, you would have to explain to Ryuji why you can’t pick locks with your broken fingers.

“I’ve made some friends since we last met,” you say, carefully tucking the bracelet back into your pocket. You let your hands fall and land on his thighs, squeezing them tight. “But don’t worry, this will always only be between us.”

“Cute,” Akechi sneers. He glances down at the papers, then catches you watching him and answers your unasked question. “I don’t know Shido. I was planning on… introducing myself, but I can’t do what I need to do if you stick your nose into it pretending to be me.”

He sighs and drops the papers to the floor, then rubs his hands over his face, looking more genuinely exhausted than you’ve ever seen him. In the low light his skin looks wan, his hair darker in contrast, and you stare up at him, your thumbs rubbing circles into his thighs. How rare for him to drop his many masks. But it could just be another show.

“Impersonating me was a bold move,” Akechi says. “You’re usually more content to stick to the shadows. Or are you that bored?”

“Work with me.”

Akechi opens his eyes and lowers his hands, returning your gaze.

It’s simple; you’re both after the same man. The enemy of your enemy is your friend. Once Shido is dealt with, things go back to the way they were, or – provided you were able to keep your knives out of each other’s backs – the partnership continues.

“I don’t need your help,” Akechi says.

“And we don’t need yours.”

“Yet you would trust me enough to work alongside me.”

“I don’t trust you at all, and you don’t trust me, but Shido can’t be allowed to gain any more influence.”

“You’re going to have to try harder than that,” Akechi says. “I’m afraid I’m not the type of person to be swayed by the greater good. And I think that what I’m going to do to Shido when I get my hands on him is a little different from whatever you have planned.”

“You just wanna hear me beg.”

Akechi doesn’t laugh.

The two of you stare at each other. A clock on the wall counts away the seconds while voices and footsteps from other apartments leak through the thin walls. Akechi has such a gentle, pretty face, but his eyes hold something that always seems to pull you in. Much the same way merfolk would lure sailors in and pull them to the depths of the sea.

Akechi leans forward, his hair falling elegantly around his face and neck, and props himself up with hands on either side of your head. Like bars of a cage.

“We would make quite the team, you and I.”

A slow breath in, out, and you nod. “Do we have a deal?”

The cage closes in and his gaze threatens to swallow you whole. You close your eyes. His lips are soft, tentative, and shier than could have been expected, but when he pulls back it’s with sharp teeth that try to pull you with him. You run your tongue along your bottom lip as soon as he lets go, and he smiles.

“We have a deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> this is my au where cameras don't exist
> 
> inspired by The Arrest of Arsène Lupin btw check it out it's a good read


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